Milo couldn’t believe his luck that Saskia offered to help make apple crisps from her orchard’s apples. Additionally, she was right about how excited people would be to rank apples; more people RSVPed yes than to any of the previous birthday celebrations he’d arranged.
In the week leading up to the party, he tweaked his recipe with grocery store Granny Smiths as a control. Dietary restrictions confirmed, his recipe had browned butter, plenty of real vanilla, a glug of bourbon, and a mix of flavors that included lesser-used spices like anise and cloves in addition to cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cardamom.
A text to Saskia confirmed the apples she was bringing would hold up to a bold spice profile. It had taken her a full day to respond to that text, but when she did, their exchange got flirty fast.
Saskia: so what I’m hearing is you like things spicy…
Milo: I think spice pairs well with a simple vanilla ice cream, don’t you?
This was the best double entendre Milo could come up with. He was vanilla ice cream personified: reliably delicious, always there for you, but not likely to blow your mind.
Saskia: vanilla ice cream is my favorite.
Milo needed to make sure she knew he was trying to flirt.
Milo: I’m the vanilla ice cream in this scenario?
Saskia: and I’m the spice
After that they exchanged a few racy photos, and recipe experimentation was abandoned for the night.
***
Prior to the party, Milo completed the last of his tasks. He bought a stack of dishes and a bunch of silverware from Fishs Eddy because food tasted better on real plates. A deep dive into the best vanilla ice cream sent him into a spiral that only Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield could pull him out of.
As he waited for Saskia, he busied himself with final tasks. He made a playlist of upbeat but not intrusive songs. The apple peelers he’d designated for use were clamped on the edge of what little counter space his apartment had. The bathroom was spotless and his bedroom was ready for a guest, should he be so lucky. This party came on his actual birthday as well, so he fielded calls and texts from assorted well-wishers. He hadn’t heard from Saskia yet.
He needed to start baking around 11:00 a.m. because of the ratio of large guest list to small oven. He’d told her to come at ten so they could start prepping ingredients. It was 10:10 and he wasn’t sure if he should start without her. There was a grace period for a meeting as informal as this, and he didn’t want her to feel bad, but he also was eager to get going.
Finally, his phone buzzed with a text.
Saskia: sorry running late, be there in 30
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